


The Heart Has Reasons for Which Reason Knows Nothing

by Icarus5800



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, M/M, Old Men In Love, Pure Fluff-I think?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 06:45:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icarus5800/pseuds/Icarus5800
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt on the Les Mis Kink Meme:</p>
<p>Post-Seine J/VJ: Valjean just can't understand how Javert could have possibly found him attractive while in Toulon given the conditions that the prisoners were kept in. Javert tries to explain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heart Has Reasons for Which Reason Knows Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Oops. Stop invading my dreams, stupid old French dudes.

They laid together in Valjean’s—their—garden, watching the stars as they slowly filled the night sky with a million pinpricks of light, less bright than the sun, perhaps, but no less beautiful. Valjean’s head was pillowed on Javert’s stomach, rising and falling with his every breath. A large hand fondly ruffled the brilliant white hair, and Javert summoned the strength to sit up, dislodging Valjean from his comfortable perch whereon he had almost fallen asleep, only to make it up to his beloved with a thorough, but thoroughly chaste, kiss. The night was too peaceful, too calm, stealing away the desire for any sort of exertion, leaving them content to simply enjoy each other’s company.

The song of nightingales played in the background, a companionable tune to the lovers’ simple joy.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

It was Javert’s voice, breaking the quiet contentment that had settled like a blanket over them and once again lulled Valjean to the edge of sleep.

“Hmm?”

“To kiss you, like this.” He proceeded to kiss Valjean into wakefulness. Or perhaps the poor old man was roused by oxygen deprivation, but that is irrelevant. “Whenever the urge strikes me.”

“Indeed. How long?” Valjean sounded genuinely curious. His own attraction to the inspector was a somewhat recent development.

“Since Toulon.”

“Indeed!” Valjean half-raised himself with one arm, the better to look at his inspector. “I find myself quite unable to believe that.”

“And why, pray tell, not?” The question was punctuated with a peck on the nose, such innocent displays of affection having grown quite common during the past months they had been living together. “Do you think yourself unattractive?”

“No, it’s not that—well, alright, I do confess that I do not consider myself a particularly handsome man. But that is beside the point. Even Adonis would lose his legendary appeal within a month of life in Toulon. You know how it is. You have seen it yourself, the filth and stink of the place. The shaved head, the unruly beard, a layer of dirt from head to toe. What would Adonis be without his sunny locks?”

Javert rarely found himself at a loss for words, and quite often spoke more than he perhaps should. On this occasion, however, words failed him. He himself was not entirely certain of the cause of his attraction. All he knew was that it existed, and persisted, despite his at times desperate attempts to suppress it. For in truth, he had wanted to kiss Jean Valjean even then, though with more anger and heat and less tenderness.

He tried to articulate his feelings to his confused lover, an endeavour that he was never quite successful in at the best of times. Feelings, simply, were not his forte.

“You were extremely strong, and such strength is quite rare to witness, you must admit.”

“Were you drawn by my physical prowess, then? If so, I should have cause to worry, for I am old—am getting older by the day—and is not as strong as I once was. Will you promise me, love, to not leave me for younger, more well-muscled men?”

“You old tease!” Javert rolled over and pinned Valjean beneath him on their bed of grass, growling playfully. “You know that nothing in the world could induce me to leave you now that I have you in my arms at last, you fool.”

Valjean’s expression suddenly turned from mirthful to solemn. His eyes were suspiciously bright, as if they contained all the stars in heaven. No mere reflection could ever be quite so entrancing, of this Javert was certain. “I am glad, my dear Inspector, to finally have this from your lips.”

“I’ve said that before.”

“Not in so many words.”

“I did not think it necessary. My actions speak well enough on their own.”

“And yet, it warms me to hear it, my friend.” And this was spoken with such affection that Javert found himself resolving to voice these sentiments in the future, to place all the stars in those beloved eyes.

Then, in a display of that strength Valjean claimed he no longer possessed, he reversed their positions.

“But you did not satisfy me with your explanation. Surely physical strength could not have been the only factor?”

Javert leaned up to flick his tongue against Valjean’s lips, earning a startled gasp. He pitched his voice low and seductive, “Oh, I could *satisfy* you, alright. I could satisfy you in so many ways. Which would you prefer?”

“Javert—,” Valjean rumbled out a warning, which only seemed to encourage the mischievous inspector further. He was forced to pin his hands.

Their previous laziness and tranquility were all but forgotten, and all that was keeping them from more…amorous…activities was Valjean’s demand of an explanation for an inexplicable thing.

Javert sighed in frustration. “Very well, if you must know, though you kept yourself apart from the other convicts, your eyes burned with a quiet, dangerous fire that ensured none dare approach or threaten you. It fascinated and…” he swallowed thickly, then whispered, “…and excited me.”

“But that fire was born of despair and fueled by hate, Javert…” Valjean’s eyes squeezed shut as if it pained him to continue looking at Javert, for fear of the answer he might find in that honest, open face. “Do you prefer the man I was then?”

Seeing the look of distress he had managed to cause in the one man he never wanted to hurt again, Javert hastily amended his words. “Of course not! I do not mean—I—well, I certainly prefer the man that you are now—no, wait, that is not entirely true, either.” He took a deep breath, and began anew. “What I had meant to say is, I had caught a glimpse into your soul in Toulon, and I am convinced now that your soul was never entirely evil, Jean.”

Valjean still looked unconvinced.

“Skepticism does not suit you, old friend. Was it not your precious bishop who told you that what was made good by God can never be made entirely evil by man?”

At the mention of that remarkable man who rekindled his love for life, Valjean relaxed a fraction, and Javert seized the opportunity to free his hands and pull his lover down into a searing kiss. Nimble fingers began making quick work of buttons.

“I loved you then and I love you now. And if you press me to say why, I can say no more than because you are you, and I am I.”

Soon they were both naked and unashamed, grinding against each other in the secluded garden, allowing the heavens and the nightingales to bear witness to their love.

Javert, stubborn man that he was, struggled to continue his explanation despite his increasingly frequent and higher pitched gasps. He punctuated his words with the thrusting of his hips to drive the point home.

“No matter the dirt or filth or your appearance, what drew me to you like moth to flame was something more visceral, something that I may never be able to express in human speech, but was there nonetheless.”

Their eyes met and held, in a moment that felt like eternity.

“I love you, Jean Valjean.”

“And I you. Now shut up and let me kiss you.”

They mapped each other beneath the stars. The question was, for the moment, forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't leave constructive criticism, this is quite likely the highest quality of work you are ever going to see from me. (It's not like I can bring this to my English teacher and ask for feedback or anything...)


End file.
